


That Friday In March

by VitaeLampada



Series: Soul Possessions [3]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, Sex after Abstinence, Spock/Uhura primary, Spring, Teacher/Student Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-10-25 00:03:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10752534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VitaeLampada/pseuds/VitaeLampada
Summary: Fluffy, sexy mini-fic set between "Alpha Incognito" and "A Tale of Two Tyrants".  Just fun, and can stand alone -- it won't matter if you haven't read anything else in the "Soul Possessions" series.





	1. Five Hours, Seventeen Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Readers -- VitaeLampada is back!  
> I was busy plotting "A Tale of Two Tyrants" when I felt a need to imagine, in detail, the event Spock recalls in Chapter One, when he and Nyota first discover the erotic energy created when they pretend to behave very inappropriately in a teacher/student situation.  
> The shorter chapters in this fic help me warm up my creative writing muscles while leaving enough time to study for my Open University exam in June. After that, it's my intention to get on with "A Tale of Two Tyrants", and return to publishing regular instalments.

If it was discovered that your significant other was also your Subspace teacher, would your exam result be automatically declared invalid?

Spock found a precedent in the Dean of Students’ disciplinary archives.  And Nyota did not want to take the risk.  So for three weeks leading up to midterms, they agreed to suspend all contact.  That meant no overnight stays, no visits at all to each other’s apartments.  It meant no lingering after lab sessions ended, so they could talk in his adjoining office (even though she was always careful to remain on the classroom side of his open doorway, standing to attention).

But also no calls or messages.  Nyota deleted Spock’s details from her PADD, so there was no chance she might slip up.  Spock already knew how to conceal and secure his private data.  He always had.  Were anyone able to hack into his PADD or work console (Gaila could not, though her half Vulcan employer encouraged her to keep trying) they would never guess he had a private life, let alone a serious relationship.

Gaila said they were taking things too far.

Well, maybe. 

“I bet Doctor Khauri wishes he’d done things our way,” Uhura argued.

Doctor Khauri may or may not have been intimately involved with one of his Tokyo students.  Or maybe they never got to that stage.  The most embellished rumour that found its way across the Atlantic said that the Non-Terran Culture professor was spotted during Blossom Festival, rowing a small boat along the channel that surrounded the Imperial Palace, admiring the banks covered with flowering trees.  The student in question was his only passenger. 

“Cutie Bootie,” Gaila powered down her console, stepped back from her work station and stretched.  “At least they both got to see the first signs of spring.”

The Orion walked to the back of the study they shared, and opened the privacy screen they had drawn across the glass wall.  Then she stood at their back door and looked outside.  Stood on her tiptoes, deliberately, just to see what could be seen over the fence into Spock’s property.

“You can just glimpse the highest branches,” Gaila taunted.

Nyota didn’t resist.  She paused her own console and went to stand beside her roommate.

Spock had his mother’s talent for gardening.  The Grounds and Maintenance department were so impressed, when they inspected what he'd done with the permitted area for planting near the fence, that they gave him dispensation to extend his work.  He asked them to recommend a tree which could grow closer to the external walls of his apartment, and also flowered.  They relocated a five-year-old weeping cherry from an unoccupied Starfleet property, along with a semi-circular bench.

All this happened during the three week contact ban.  So Gaila’s description of this latest garden feature was all Nyota had to go on, plus what she could see from the study.  There was less to look at than Gaila had suggested.  In reality the fence concealed everything except a few petals of cherry blossom, but those were perfect, the colour of strawberry ice cream.  When a breeze blew through the gardens it set them trembling.

“Poor Doctor Khauri,” was all Uhura said.

And after a second, she realised that one of her hands had reached up to grasp her necklace, the one with the vokaya pendant Spock gave her after Alpha Incognito.

The Tokyo academy did not impose its harshest penalty on Doctor Khauri for breaking the fraternisation rules.  The professor and his unknown student had to agree to wear tracking devices, to prove they could voluntarily remain apart.

Uhura's hand started to move the pendant, twisting it back and forth.  She did this when she missed Spock most, when she wished they were bonded so they could send and receive thoughts without needing to speak or write messages.

The breeze died down outside and the sun emerged from behind clouds.  Sudden, intense light flooded the gardens and the heat could be felt through the glass. 

Gaila sighed.  “Can you believe it was a year ago that we --,” 

And then the Orion stopped, because something new came into view outside: a head in profile, dark hair cut with precision round its pointed ear, the neck wrapped in a thick scarf.  It had been out of sight below the fence, where Spock must have been tending his garden.  Nyota watched the Vulcan eye scan the ground immediately in front of it. Perhaps it admired the yellow narcissi.  Gaila said Spock had planted these flowers on his side of the fence, near the gate.

The gate.  It was only nine steps from the study door in a straight line.  Three weeks ago, a bamboo trellis was hastily installed on their lawn, to give the illusion that Cadet Uhura and Sub-Lieutenant Jadillu had no use for an opening in the fence, while leaving enough space so one of them could slip through ... eventually.    

Nyota never intended to test the strength of her jewellery.  But the next thing she knew Gaila had to seize her wayward hand, because it had pulled the necklace tight and was using the chain to saw red marks across her throat like it was intent on dismemberment.

Some type of bond must have developed between her and Gaila.  After a year together, they could communicate a lot by eye contact.

“How much time left?” the Orion asked.

It was Nyota’s turn to sigh.

“Five hours, seventeen minutes.”


	2. Three Hours, Thirty Two Minutes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Dear Readers,
> 
> I'm enjoying this way too much. How did I ever go so long without writing a word about this pair? Hope it's just as good for all of you.

“If they don’t want students to be attracted to their instructors, then we should all be taught by androids.  Or Vulcans.”

Eklara’s eyes changed colour as she spoke.  And Gaila knew she had hit on a winner.  Here was a conversation which could be turned towards Nyota's favourite subject without requiring her roommate's participation -- ergo not raise the slightest suspicions about any attraction Cadet Uhura might have.  And as a bonus, the same topic was helping Eklara, because it distracted the Denobulan student from her anxiety about the impending exam.

Top ranked Subspace candidates sat their midterm practical inside the working model used by Computer Science for the Kobayashi Maru simulation.  Three Invigilators were on the bridge.  They were busy converting additional consoles into comms stations, and checking that each one could access the correct sound streams.  The students waited in the public observation gallery one floor up, supervised by the Orion faculty aide.   

Gaila leaned against the viewing windows.  She watched Commander Spock’s understated, elegant hand movements as he configured the navigator’s station, as well as the contrast between his dark eyes and pale skin.  She did this for Nyota, who had elected to stand as far back from the glass as possible, and pretend to be more interested in her PADD.  Uhura would benefit later, thanks to all that telepathy training.

Gaila tapped the window lightly with a cherise painted fingernail, and challenged the Denobulan female.

“Seriously, Eklara, Vulcans?  Have you taken a close look at Starfleet’s newest faculty member?”

“You mean the professor your assist.”  The Denobulan had an elegant motion herself, as she sashayed across the gallery to take up the Orion’s suggestion.  “Is he one of the reasons you applied for your post?”

Gaila smiled suggestively, but sidestepped the question.  “I’d like your score out of ten, please.”

Eklara considered their subject of interest.  As if to oblige, Spock stood out of the navigator’s chair and straightened his uniform jacket.  He glanced up at the gallery.

“He is certainly a striking example of his species,” she admitted.

“And strong,” Gaila reminded the student.

“Not needing a great deal of sleep,” Eklara added meaningfully.

“Appreciating the merits of dominant females.”

“Nine out of ten,” the Denobulan pronounced.

“Only nine?”

“He is not a carnivore.  What would you prepare him for breakfast the next morning?  And be honest, Orion, can he be aroused without the aid of your pheromones?”

Behind them, Nyota made a noise, a derisive sniff.  Eklara heard it and turned.

“Ah, the Terran disapproves of our discussion.  We are showing inappropriate interest in our teacher, instead of being studious like her.  On my world, we do not have this strange attitude.  Sexual activity is a pleasure to be shared, not something to be complicated by rules.”

Gaila was pretty sure Nyota meant something very different.  But that was the beauty of this particular conversation.

Through the view screen, Gaila saw the Commander give her their agreed signal.  Everything was ready, and the faculty aide could now escort the students downstairs.  On their way to the simulation area, the Orion addressed a remark to no one in particular.

“Where I come from, a teacher would expect and look forward to having sexual relations with any student who found them attractive.  Especially at the end of a term.  It was like a thank you gift.”

There was a storage facility just outside the entrance to the bridge.

“You will need to leave all your belongings here,” Gaila told the two students.  “The lockers along the walls are secured by voice recognition.  A passkey phrase will appear in this display,” she pointed at one on the nearest cabinet.  “Allow the computer a few seconds to compare what you read aloud with the sound data on your Starfleet files.”

***

Commander Beckenbauer lowered his voice, in that inexplicable way Terrans chose when they shared information they knew it would be wiser to conceal.  Given that his speech centred on the recent disciplinary action against Doctor Khauri (itself the result of an unwise decision) made Beckenbauer’s actions all the more confounding.

“Between you and me, Sefina, I think they should scrap the whole fraternisation policy and come up with something more … pragmatic.”

Sergeant Vitale had, on two occasions since she arrived for invigilation duty, asked the Commander not to address her as if they were on first name terms.  Spock wondered why she did not make a third request.  Perhaps she was concerned that the exam candidates might arrive while she was speaking.  But the students could still be seen through the windows of the public gallery, gathering their belongings in readiness to proceed downstairs.

“Sir,” Sergeant Vitale said, with emphasis placed on her recognition of Beckenbauer’s rank.  “What would constitute this pragmatic approach?  Would there be any restrictions?”

“Well …,” the Commander replied awkwardly, and followed that with an interval of silence clearly indicating he had not formulated an alternative policy.

Spock, conversely, had given the subject considerable thought, in particular over the last three weeks.  Were he in a position to amend the Academy fraternisation rules, he would choose to recognise that attraction was inevitable within any group of sexually compatible individuals.  Rather than forbid what could not be forbidden, and expend illogical effort policing and punishing the inevitable infringements, there should be a relationship register.

He imagined a database, openly available.  Information would be submitted voluntarily by individuals who found themselves drawn into couples, triads, pods or harems.  As long as this condition was met, no restriction would be placed on the amount of private time these individuals spent together.  And their situation would not need to be secret.  Registered relationships would be subject to audit, to ensure that no academic or promotional advantage was obtained as a favour from an intimate connection.

But, he told himself, as the entrance to the bridge simulator opened and the students filed inside, he had no authority to make those changes, nor likely would have.  He noted that Cadet Uhura chose not to sit at the station he configured, and this was wise.  It was better, for so many reasons, that she took the science officer’s place instead, which Vitale had prepared, and let the Sergeant oversee her work.

To be on the safe side he altered his stance, and turned his back on her.  This, he might have advised Doctor Khauri, was the degree of discipline they imposed upon themselves to ensure that Nyota reached graduation without the slightest stain on their respective Starfleet records.

But the brief look he had allowed himself was too long.  His deprived brain now had a fresh image of her. His memory went into a frenzy, noting down the details with the precision and energy of a manic curator.

Her hair had been trimmed, because the edge of her ponytail did not fall lower than her shoulder blades.

There was a mark on her throat just above her uniform collar.  Not a cut, but a skin irritation of some description.

She wore the titanium earrings with garnets set into the pendants.

Her jaw had been set.  Her eyes had assessed the bridge layout with a single, sweeping glance and then she had marched to her chosen station.  Before taking the seat Sergeant Vitale pulled back for her, Nyota had run her hands down her hips to smooth her skirt.

had run her hands

hands down her hips

down her hips to smooth her

The memory curator was babbling.  And Spock was taking steps to alter his pulse rate, blood pressure and any secretions from his endocrine system.  When Sub-Lieutenant Jadillu approached him to hand over the exam roster for his signature, she flared her nostrils.  This was her discreet way of indicating he had not successfully achieved all those aims.

***

When she finished the exam, Nyota was escorted off the simulator floor by her invigilator.  Gaila was waiting in the room where they left their belongings.

"Go well?" the Orion asked.

"I think so."

Uhura knelt down to see the display on her locker door.  She read the passkey phrase silently, then glanced back at Gaila.  Her roommate was grinning.

"Come on," Gaila said, "admit it.  That is a tiny bit of pure genius."

Nyota shook her head and grinned.  "You two ... I don't know which of you is worse."

Gaila leaned forward and started to chant, softly.

"Read it, read it, read it, read it --"

Nyota turned back to the locker display and did what she was told.  

"I will be back in my quarters by eighteen hundred."


	3. Twenty-Four Minutes

“What should I wear?” Nyota asked.

Gaila glanced up from buffing her nails.  Uhura was fresh from the shower, wrapped in a fluffy towel sarong, and staring into her wardrobe as if none of the clothes hanging on the rail belonged to her.

“I think your current choice of outfit is perfect.”

“Of course you do,” Nyota gave her roommate an indulgent smile from the dressing area.  “But you would never have tolerated a three week contact blackout.”

“Which is over now, by the way.”  Gaila reminded her, before she rolled across her mattress to reach the tub of cuticle cream on her bedside table.

“I know.  But it still feels ...,”

Gaila watched Nyota tug at the top of the sarong, which had worked loose and was threatening to slip off altogether.  The Orion had her hand on the lid of her cuticle cream, but changed her mind.  She swapped the tub for her PADD lying on the bed.  Perhaps she could try to nurture this utterly nonsensical conversation, keep Uhura absorbed in her own thoughts and then secretly film her.  At least Commander Spock would have something to watch, if he was going to be kept waiting.

“It just feels too sudden, too jarring, to go from absolutely nothing to … to this.  Does that make sense?”

Frankly, Gaila could not figure out what Uhura meant or express the least empathy.

And then, quite suddenly, Nyota spotted something in the wardrobe that drew her hand away from the towel.  She pulled out a garment, held it up by the neck of its hanger and turned it so she could inspect the front and back.  She picked a bit of lint off the skirt, smiled, and turned to drape her choice of clothing over the back of a nearby chair.

Gaila held back her reaction a few seconds, because she could not quite believe what she had seen.

“Cutie Bootie?”

“Umm?” Nyota answered through clenched teeth.  She had an elastic tie stored in her mouth while she brushed out her hair.

“You’re going to put on a clean uniform?”

“Umhum.”

“The same uniform Spock has seen you wear to subspace labs.  And tutorials.  And the exam.”

“I can’t explain it,” Nyota said.

“Well,” the Orion said, “I’m glad.  I’m not sure I’d want to hear an explanation if you had one.”

Slowly, Gaila drew her knees up closer to her body.  And while Nyota’s back was turned, to open her bureau, Gaila activated her PADD video and rested the device on the top of her legs.  She poked the screen with her stylus to make it appear she was composing a message.

Inexplicable apparel choices could still make lovely viewing while the wearer was getting into them.  When Nyota crouched to pick some items from her bottom drawer, her sarong came undone.  The towel slipped away as she stood and pooled at her bare feet.  She stepped over it.

“Regulation issue bra and briefs,” Gaila observed as her naked roommate laid her choice of underwear on the corner of her bed.

“Also can’t explain.”

Gaila sighed.  “Well, if the Commander still pays you that lingerie allowance, maybe this is your way of inviting him to rip those dull little pieces to shreds so you can replace them with something nice.”

Nyota, without realising, looked straight at the PADD camera.  “Very funny, sweetie.” 

And then maybe she did realise.

“What are you doing?”

“Me?”

Gaila had forgotten to maintain her ruse.  She picked up her stylus quickly and started writing a message for real.

“The last three weeks haven’t been great for my sex life either, you know.  Now that exams are over, and you probably won’t be back before tomorrow morning, I wondered if maybe --,”

“You want me to let you invite a date back here.”

Nyota seemed to accept this was why Gaila needed the PADD, and stopped staring.  She sat down on her bed instead, picked up the briefs and slipped her feet through the leg openings.

“Just once," the Orion pleaded.

“Gaila, you never do anything just once.”

When she stood again to pull up her underwear, Nyota turned round to give the camera a view of her sweet little ass being trussed in white cotton.

“Oh, c’mon, C.B.  Say yes.”

Nyota turned back to the Orion, just halfway, and chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully.

“I don’t like making exceptions to our rules.”

“Oh, listen to yourself,” Gaila snapped.  “You have been an exception to Academy rules since last October.”

“Not exactly.”

“Exactly enough.”

Nyota snatched her bra off the bed.  She settled the cups in place, drew the wings behind her and had one missed attempt with the fasteners before they connected.

“Look,” she said as she pulled up the shoulder straps, “can you promise me one thing?”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t invite Jim Kirk.”

“We still aren’t speaking.”

“No, but I’ve caught you both looking.”

“No law against that.”

Gaila smiled.  Nope, no law whatsoever, she thought.  Her PADD now had footage of Nyota shimmying into her red uniform skirt.

“Seriously, though,” Nyota started again.

“Don’t worry.  I have messaged Brenner Martin.  If he has other plans, the same message is queued to send to Boz Duarte, Yeltsin Cartwright and Samax Tol Tau Sigg.”

“Samax is a sweet guy,” Nyota conceded, as she threw her tunic over her head.

“So that’s a yes?”

Gaila waited to see the expression on Nyota’s face when it appeared again through the neck opening.

“Yes, all right.”

Commander Spock would experience some deterioration in picture quality when he reached this point in the video.  The PADD bounced on Gaila’s knees and she cheered.    


	4. Three Minutes, Twelve Seconds

Two different alerts sounded simultaneously on Spock’s PADD.  The device itself sat on the breakfast bar, demanding attention, while he was in the bedroom on the other side of his apartment, hanging up his coat and scarf.  By the time he returned to the kitchen, one signal had stopped.  A glance at the display told him that the other, more persistent alert was a call from Doctor Melita Santiago, the Dean of Faculty.

A human, in the same situation, would likely have expressed frustration.  Spock did divert his gaze five centimetres to the right, and let it rest on the unpacked box of groceries he had collected on his way back from the simulation arena.  And then he lifted his eyes and looked beyond the counter, through his lounge into his study and the open door which led outside to his garden.

But before the comms software could automatically take the call, and ask the Dean to leave a message, Spock surrendered to duty and opened the video channel.

“Sir.”

***

When she opened the gate, the hinges creaked.  And Nyota’s immediate reaction came from sheer force of habit.  After weeks of intensive aural training, of listening to hours of sound streams filled with peculiar, fluctuating frequencies and trying to work out their meaning as quickly as possible, she identified the noise as a distress call.

And then she smiled at herself, and the irony of what she’d just done.  Who knew -- maybe the gate had begun to worry about how little it had been used lately.  Maybe it feared that no one would ever open it again.

In fact, she thought, if the gate _were_ sentient it would probably want to file a complaint with the person responsible for its installation – Captain Pike. 

Pike was an ally.  While the Enterprise was under construction, and before its maiden voyage, he gave Spock orders to find a partner.  “In deep space,” he once told Uhura, “ _pon farr_  on a starship is no laughing matter.”  He had little time for the fraternisation policy, or any other rule which failed to consider the realities of interstellar travel.  He believed the Academy existed to serve the needs of Starfleet, whatever those were.

So when Spock informed him that a partner had been acquired, but she was having to use a kitchen chair to make the discreet journey over the fence which divided their respective apartments, the Captain did not care that she was a cadet or that at some point Spock would probably be her teacher.  He sent a signed, urgent works order to the Grounds and Maintenance department.

It had been the perfect Christmas present.

When Nyota closed the gate behind her, it made a different noise, appropriate in the circumstances because it sounded more like a warning.  Shortly after the gate was installed, Uhura was summoned to the Dean of Students’ office, so he could make the Academy’s position clear.

“Fine,” Dean Rousseau made a steeple with his hands and placed them carefully on top of his polished desk.  “You have a gate.”

From where Nyota sat in his meeting room, she could see through the glass wall and watch Spock arrive in the Dean’s reception area for his appointment with Doctor Santiago.

“A _gate_ ,” Dean Rousseau said again.  “Not a floodgate.”

Or as Dean Santiago put it, “A gate presumes the gatekeepers know their responsibility.”

And then both Deans spelled out what they meant.  If Spock and Nyota were not careful, if their relationship was discovered and reported, the Academy would be forced to deny all knowledge.  Under no circumstances could Deans Rousseau or Santiago admit to allowing an exception to the fraternisation rules.  Because if they did, they would need to explain why, and that would mean explaining _pon farr_.

(The Vulcan Consulate had only recently, and very reluctantly, agreed to share some facts about the sexuality of their species with serving Senior Medical and Command Officers.  And every one of them was required to sign a pledge of secrecy.)

But that was not all.  If Spock and Nyota were found out, they would be punished exactly as Doctor Khauri was punished – forbidden all contact or, if they could not manage that, one of them would be reassigned to a far flung campus or starship posting.

Standing in Spock’s garden, admiring the weeping cherry tree while she breathed warm traces of its blossom in the air, Nyota should have been able to relax.  But she could not, even on this side of the gate.  She squared her shoulders and crossed the lawn with a measured pace.     

His back door was propped open.  Before she reached it, and while she could remain out of sight by standing where the privacy screen covered the glass walls of his study, she stopped and listened.  Spock was conversing with someone.  Nyota heard him speak, then pause, then speak again.   She gauged the distance by the volume and lack of distortion in his voice.  The sound carried well, therefore he was standing in a direct line with the door, but a few meters back from it.

The other half of the conversation was transmitted; she could tell from the sharper quality of consonants.  And she recognised Doctor Santiago’s voice.

“—thought you might have considered a stand-in,” the Dean said.

“We were obliged to find a substitute invigilator for Professor Abdulov, who was unwell.  Sergeant Vitale’s help was obtained at short notice.  In those circumstances, it did not seem appropriate --,”

“Fine,” Santiago interrupted him.  “It’s just that elite examination work is more carefully scrutinised.  There will be review of the video footage and set up programming.”

“And it will be noted that Cadet Uhura did not sit at the station I configured or supervised.  We did not exchange words, make eye contact or face each other for the duration.”

There was a pause.  “Okay,” the Dean said, “I guess that will have to do.  You know, Commander, this situation has done nothing for the state of my nerves.  Will she be taking any of your classes next year?”

“That would depend upon the timetable,” Spock replied.  “If Uhura is able, she will take Professor Abdulov’s Advanced Subspace in the autumn term.  But should this conflict with another required subject …,”

He left a pause, perhaps to prevent a second interruption.

“I’ll review her remaining non-electives with Dean Rousseau,” Doctor Santiago said.  “We’ll decide her schedule and inform her.”

Then the subject changed.  The Dean of Faculty wanted to end on a lighter note, and asked Spock whether a date had been set for the Enterprise system tests.  Nyota stayed where she was throughout that discussion, until Santiago finally said, “Anyway, I’ve kept you long enough.”

And as Spock participated in the pleasantries needed to end the call, Nyota came out of hiding, stepped into the study.  She knew that he heard her.  His head tilted slightly to show her more of one ear.  But he did not look up, because Santiago had used a video channel.

She watched his hand hover at the edge of his PADD, waiting for the moment he could disengage.  But even after he did that, he still did not look up.  Instead he continued working with his tablet; Nyota hoped he was switching the device to sleep mode, though he seemed to be taking his time.

She would not come closer than the doorway which separated his study from the lounge.  She thought about her posture, and made adjustments – ankles and knees together, head back, chin up.  She drew her arms behind her back and clasped her hands.

And still he did not look up.  She would swear he had started work on some new task, because that was the intentness of his look.  Light from the PADD display made his pale skin look cooler.  If this were a classroom, and she had needed to ask a question, she would have addressed him by his title and let him direct her as to how long she might need to wait.

“Commander?”

“Cadet,” he replied matter-of-factly.

He gave her a glance.  It lasted less than the duration of a blink, and didn’t give her anything to go on.  Maybe Spock, like her, had not relaxed.  Maybe he also had locked up all the other ways of being with her, and so securely it would take time just to locate the keys.  But she was here now, and they would have to talk about something.   

“Sir,” she said, “I am interested in earning extra credit over the midterm break.  May I ask for a suitable assignment?”


	5. Minus Fifteen Seconds

It was illogical to be afraid of her.

Logic, therefore, required a justification and asked, 'what is the basis for your emotion?'

His reaction spiked when he heard her enter his apartment.  And pain accompanied the feeling – a burning below his rib cage.  Less intense symptoms of this same dread had been part of his emotional landscape throughout their self-imposed contact ban.  

But why?

He experienced a second crescendo of fear when his video call with Dean Santiago ended.  It left silence to fill.  There was a gap between himself and Nyota made of distance, time and thought.  It was a gap he wished to erase, not to fill by talking and listening and thereby gaining her perspective on the separation.  If she had suffered, learning about it would double his memory of suffering.

If she had not –

“Commander?”

He was too deep in self-analysis.  His answer was not an answer, more a habit of speech.

“Cadet.”

A quick glance towards the study did not enlighten him.  She stood to attention in the doorway, and appeared no different than she did when she walked into the simulation arena, or when she arrived for subspace labs or if he happened to look out his office window and see her leaving the Computer Science building.

This was the Nyota Uhura he must not see.  Must not touch.  Must not want.

What did he fear?

He feared how much he wanted.

It was discourteous to let his eyes take refuge in his PADD, needlessly archiving his mail.  He noted that a message from Sub-Lieutenant Jadillu arrived at the same time the Dean had called.  Almost certainly it pertained to the subspace midterm, and therefore he must not –

“Sir,” Nyota said, “I am interested in earning extra credit over the midterm break.  May I ask for a suitable assignment?”

He secured Gaila’s message and forced himself to lift his head.  Curious.  Nyota had submitted an application for extra credit the previous week, and received details of her project work.  Yet her expression seemed expectant, hopeful.

It occurred to him she might be joking.  His grasp of Terran humour had improved during his time in Starfleet, but was never guaranteed.  Thankfully, his failures to understand were often sources of amusement in themselves, and so he felt emboldened.  He could fill the silence this way. 

“Of course,” he told her.

***

Nyota kept her arms behind her back.  It pushed her chest out and pulled her uniform jacket tighter across her breasts.  She calculated the number of paces between her and him: six if she took long strides, eight otherwise.  For the first four steps she became like stone above the legs, her best Vulcan impression.

After that, only the breakfast bar stood between them.  Uhura released one of her hands.  She brought it in front of her and placed it palm down on Spock's cool, sileneum worktop.  She leaned into the gesture, because it curved her posture.  Her final four steps led from the hip, curling her round to his side of the counter, giving a gentle bump to one of his chairs in passing.       

Face to face with him, she straightened again and saluted.

“Sir.”

Spock studied her for several seconds before he replied.  “At ease.”

She studied him in turn.  His tight reined vowels might be a good sign.  Could she get him to give her another?  While their eyes were otherwise occupied, Nyota let her counter top hand glide onward, seeking.

“I realise I could have asked your assistant, but I thought you might understand …,”

The tips of her fingers bumped against the edge of his PADD.  She swallowed audibly.

“… might suggest something better suited to my needs.”

There.  Spock’s pupils swelled, eclipsed his irises.

He lowered his eyelids to conceal it, but too late.  Nyota felt her own blood jump, and a little fire catch between her legs.  She turned aside to face the breakfast bar, pulled his PADD closer and explored the shockproof casing until she discovered the stylus in its groove.  She removed it, held it out for him to take.

“There must be something you could show me.  Something you wouldn’t show any other student.”

“Cadet Uhura …,”

The second syllable of her name, beginning with a glottal consonant, was produced in the throat.  Spock made a sound from a deeper place within, one that rattled.  Nyota let out a shaky breath at the same time.  Having started this game, she was not sure how much longer she could sustain it.  She clenched her thigh muscles to convince herself she was solid, not melting from her own heat.

She gestured desperately with the stylus.  “Perhaps …,” she began, “perhaps a closer examination of the overlap and build-up of signals.  The -- the phenomenon of sub drop, where the signals produce an altered state in the listener.  I don’t believe there have been studies made --,”

Carried away with her words, she accidentally stabbed him in the stomach.  His hand caught hers.

A rush of need broke through her skin and streaked up her arm to her throat, where it forced an animal yelp from her.  Did she grab him or did he grab her?  She wasn’t sure how their bodies moved, only where their hands ended up when the attack was over, clutching and kneading.  They snatched their first kisses like beggars, quickly, until they caught the taste of their respective tongues; Uhura bit his lower lip and would not let go.

Then Spock lifted her off her feet, made her taller than him.  He tipped his head back so she could seal their mouths together.  She grabbed both his ears, pulled them by the points and mortared them with the heels of her hands.  The rattling sound he had made when he pronounced her name was constant now.  And maybe she affected his balance.  With her eyes shut, it seemed like Spock was swaying.

Suddenly he swung round.  It was a gorgeous, dizzying sensation, enhanced by a hand which crawled down her buttocks and between her legs where her regulation briefs were damp.  It broke their kiss for a second; she cried “Spock!” and promptly bit him again.

He kept on turning.  Nyota was no longer sure of her bearings.  The hand between her legs held her in place while the other was elsewhere – she could feel the muscles working in that shoulder.  She felt his back strike a hard surface, roll to one side and then they moved forward.

After that the floor sounded different beneath his feet; his steps had an echo.  Nyota opened her eyes but it was completely dark, wherever they were.  Without interrupting their kiss, Spock sat her down on a cushioned surface and tilted her so her legs opened and wrapped round his waist.  Nyota felt her back press against a wall.

Fabric was torn, including but not limited to her panties.  As Spock fit his erection inside her body, their mouths slipped apart.  He panted into her hairline and she squeaked ‘please, please, yes, please, yes’ into the collar of his black uniform jacket – one word for every deep, delicious thrust. 


	6. Minus Thirteen Minutes, Twenty-Four Seconds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hizhuk" is the Vulcan word for 'quiet'.

When Nyota came it was almost painful.  She could only make it better by making it worse, crying like a child because she needed his body to press her harder, faster and deeper, but she couldn’t form the words. 

As her pleading grew louder, one of Spock’s hands brushed her face and the pad of his thumb started to rub gently beneath her lower lip.

“ _Hizhuk,_ _hizhuk,_ ” he whispered close to her ear.

His strange ministrations had an effect.  Instead of wailing she whined, and then she discovered that he was happy to let her bite down on his thumb if it muffled the sound a little more.  So she did that, while he stayed inside her and nurtured her pain to another torturous peak.

That second time, she thought she was much better.  But Spock was hushing her again.

“Why?” she gasped, and took several more breaths before she could finish her question.  “Why do I need to be so quiet?”

“We should take care not to reveal our hiding place, Cadet Uhura.”

Nyota didn’t reply until she’d taken a moment to digest and accept the fact that Spock was still playing teacher.  Curious.

“Sir,” she went along with him, “if you don’t mind my asking, what is this hiding place, exactly?”

“We are inside the kitchen pantry.”

“Pantry?”

Spock gave her a parting kiss on the forehead, withdrew from her body and stood to one side.  “Computer,” he commanded, “lighting at fifteen percent.”

The ceiling began to glow.

“Ah,” Uhura said, realising, “ _that’s_ what this is.”

“I believe you have a similar feature in your apartment.”

“We do,” Nyota agreed.  “But if you were to open ours, you’d find that Gaila – I mean Sub-Lieutenant Jadillu – has filled it with her shoe collection. And there is no longer enough space for two people to walk inside.”

She sat up a little.  Spock did not have much use for a pantry himself; he had only stocked one shelf on the right hand wall.  He had lain her down on the top of his small freezer unit, made more comfortable by the addition of a cushion she recognised.  It usually lived on the sofa in his lounge.

“Commander,” she asked, “would it be fair to say you planned to bring me here?”

He was assessing the damage he had done to his uniform trousers.  The front left leg had been ripped diagonally from the fly button to the side seam at his thigh.  The metal zipper was missing several teeth.

“No,” he replied, still staring at his trousers.


	7. Minus Twenty-One Minutes

Nyota pushed herself off the top of the freezer unit, adjusted her skirt and turned round.  She plumped the sofa cushion with both hands until she restored its original shape. 

“And yet you don’t usually keep your soft furnishings here, Commander.” 

Spock inclined his head, as if to concede that this much was true.  Then he said, “Please excuse me, Cadet.”  And he walked out of the pantry.  Uhura picked up the remains of her underwear from the floor and followed him. 

“Nevertheless,” he picked up their conversation as he took off his boots and socks in the kitchen, “I had no plan in place for your visit this evening.” 

Barefoot, he opened the incinerator hatch near the sink.  Removing his trousers in the usual manner must have seemed pointless; they were damaged beyond repair.  Spock took hold of the broken zipper at the bottom and pulled until both crotch and inside leg seams gave way, so the lower half of his uniform simply fell off. 

Uhura lunged – grabbed the pieces of fabric before he could.  She clutched them to her chest a moment, buried her nose in the cloth and inhaled and sighed. 

“I thought I would go crazy before the three weeks ended,” she confessed. 

Then she surrendered her clothes and his to the incinerator, and closed the hatch.  Spock came alongside and circled her waist with his arms. 

“Significant additional effort was required to provide distraction during unoccupied time,” he said.  “I set myself several thought experiments, which proved effective to varying degrees.” 

“Such as …?” 

“I believe I have constituted a more pragmatic Academy fraternisation policy.” 

Nyota laughed and kissed him on the cheek.  “You will tell me the details later.  What else?” 

“I considered possibilities for greater concealment.” 

“Please elaborate.” 

Spock gave her a sidelong look, which he sustained until she shook her head at him.

“Right then,” she said, “you’d better show me.”

Without hesitation, he moved one hand from her hip to her head.  The pads of three fingers rested on her meld points, and Nyota closed her eyes.

Before he met her, he had never shared, never dared share a sexual fantasy.  The details would not come out of his mouth -- he seemed to have a physiological block as unbreakable as the encryption of private data on his PADD.  Even if the intention was to tell her, the person who was the subject of these fantasies, it had to be the Vulcan way. 

Which, as it happened, was the best. 

No, Nyota found out, he did not plan the pantry.  Had he planned it, there would have been more cushions, like their first time, piled up over the floor and sprinkled with petals from the cherry tree.  A spray of blossom would also have been placed on top of the freezer unit, because he wanted to rain more petals down on her.  Then he imagined how he would roll and bruise each one against her skin to give her the scent he enjoyed from the doors of his study in the mornings. 

Spock had intended to turn this fantasy into reality.  Exactly one week, three hours and seventeen minutes ago he started, but got no further than moving that single cushion.  Carrying it from the lounge, he was struck by the realisation that, were his apartment to be searched during an investigation into his relationship with Cadet Uhura, this hiding place would be easily discovered. 

He placed the cushion on the freezer unit, even so.  But he used it himself.  He sat on it for an hour in deep meditation, until a better idea presented itself. 


	8. Minus Forty-Nine Minutes, Seven Seconds

“I presume,” Spock said, “that your apartment also has this storage area?”

Nyota stepped out from the hydraulic cage which had carried them up from the lounge, and closed the safety gate behind her.  Her boots sank into the blue foam insulation.

“Yes, but yours is bigger.  We can only access ours from the bedroom.”

And there was something else.  If Spock had more attic space than they did, why didn’t he also have a skylight window fitted in the roof?

Spock was moving the few boxes he kept up there.  They had been stacked neatly, five rows four cartons high, graduated in size.

“It may surprise you to know that Gaila has not managed to fill ours yet,” she added.  She still was not sure what she was meant to see.  Behind the boxes there was nothing but a wall constructed from the same malleable insulation blocks which covered the attic floor.  Spock was patting and prodding the foam structure, as if trying to smooth any dents.

All of a sudden the wall seemed to swallow his hand, quickly followed by his arm.

“Spock?”

It did not trouble him.  He let himself be drawn in deeper before he twisted his captured limb at the shoulder.  Nyota heard the creak of metal sliding over metal.  Then Spock bent at the knees and pulled backwards, hard.  A segment of insulation, about a meter square, emerged from the base of the wall with a soft, slipping sound and when it was pulled clear it left an opening.    

Spock beckoned and she came closer.  They crouched side by side and looked through the gap.  On the other side of the wall, she saw a floor space filled with cushions.

“Where,” Nyota shook her head, “where did you get all those?”

Of course she knew she would receive every detail: how many different businesses took his orders, because purchasing all of them from the same establishment might draw unwanted attention, as would multiple deliveries to his address.  The day Grounds and Maintenance brought the cherry tree and bench he asked to borrow their vehicle while they worked in the garden.  He collected everything himself.

Since she had not asked, Spock did not elaborate on his choice of colours.  Nyota squinted pointlessly.  While the rest of the attic had computer controlled illumination, the space inside the insulated wall was dim.  The cushions were in various shades of twilight.

“You are welcome to inspect the interior at closer range,” Spock said.

She turned her head and gave him a conspiratorial smile.  “A very kind invitation.  Was it offered in the knowledge that I would need to crawl through that entrance with nothing under my skirt?”

Spock’s face admitted to nothing.  He simply dropped down on his hands and knees and went through the opening first.  And being naked from the waist, he furnished her with the enjoyable view.  She gave his taut ass a slap before she followed him inside.

The hidden place was a soft centre, a love nest: everything but the skylight pillowed with foam.  Cushions banked up in the corners and slipped over each other as Spock tried to stand.  But Nyota just let impulse do her driving; she jumped on his back and leaned her weight left.  This was the kind of fight she was guaranteed to win.       


	9. Lost Track

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Vulcan words were taken from http://www.starbase-10.de/vld/ with thanks for the assistance.

Spock listed to his port bow like a starship after a direct hit.  But he did not lose balance; he acted tactically and lowered his centre of gravity by throwing himself stomach down on his accumulation of cushions.  Nyota writhed on his back.  This sensation, particularly her thighs pressing against skin which stung from her slap, was new and he wanted to prolong it.

Uhura used his shoulders to drag herself closer to his head.  Her mouth placed a wet kiss on the point of his right ear.

“Commander …,”

She whispered.  There was no need; the insulation would absorb any noise.  Yet blood went rushing to his _lok_ , and without hesitation he replied at the same volume.

“Cadet.”

He felt her weight lift off him.

“Cadet Uhura --,” his voice changed key, pleaded.  Then he felt her hands crawl underneath his uniform jacket.

“Commander, I believe this is an excellent hiding place.”  Her hands, self-taught and as proficient reading him as her ears could read subspace signals, sought out the latissimus dorsi muscles and worked over them in strokes from the spine outwards.   Spock felt her touch as waves of heat.  He squirmed on the cushions and muttered his thanks for her praise and her attentions.

After more of this, plus kisses which were left to dry on his buttocks, she moved her hand along his hip muscle and squeezed, the signal for him to roll over.  He did so carefully – the fabric friction against his new erection was various and pleasing.  Nyota was perfectly positioned to admire it as he resettled himself.  She pinched the head, ever so gently, and a small amount of his _sa-nei-masu_ seeped under her fingers. 

“Uhura!”

He cried out when she licked the fluid away, and lost control of his breathing.  Then Nyota rose so she stood on her knees and shifted forward, one leg at a time.  Once she let him catch her by the hips, because a cushion slipped.  When she was poised to take him inside her, she rolled up her uniform skirt to the waist.

Spock inserted his hand like a cup between her thighs and opened her with his index finger.  He traced the circuit round her _keshtan-ur_ , pressed and pulled the nerve dense skin, and was rewarded with the same jolts of sensation it gave her and the ache in her voice.  The enjoyment made his _lok_ seep again.  He used his thumb to grind at the loose skin that hooded her smaller version of his shaft, because this produced an increasing tension, deep and bordering on pain, which made her shut her eyes.

“Co-comman-co,” her calls were high pitched, tremulous.  “Co-comm --,”

She seized his hand, pushed it aside.  She caught his erection and held it in place while her hips shifted to lower herself and swallow his flesh inside hers.  The connection made them groan in unison.

It amazed Spock, being Vulcan, how well their bodies could manage themselves in the absence of their minds.  Their mutual thrusts, the tensing and relaxation of muscles, what their hands did with whatever they could grasp, all this happened without choosing.  His thinking brain felt submerged in a pool of hot, fluid and exclusively sexual fixations.  He could not take his eyes off the way her breasts bounced and made the Starfleet insignia on her jacket move with them, how a strand of hair from her ponytail had caught in the corner of her open mouth and become wet with her saliva.  Her tongue rose up over her lower teeth when she exhaled.  Above all, he wished his _lok_ could grow longer, so that he could find a way to go deeper inside her.

This pool of desires reached boiling point.  The seconds which followed Spock could not account for; he seemed to stop seeing and hearing and thinking of anything.  When he regained a grasp on reality, he noted that he had not stopped breathing.  His lungs filled and emptied rapidly, not at all hindered by the soft, warm pressure of another body resting on top of him, also panting.   


	10. Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers, herewith is the last fluffy chapter. My summer break from university begins today, which means "A Tale of Two Tyrants" WILL get written. That's a promise.

Gaila’s first task, the morning after any night spent with a new partner, was to evaluate them.  Not the full Orion Javevennu appraisal, because that took too long and anyway, so few made a passing grade.  

She had also stopped announcing the results.  Her first half dozen sexual liaisons on Terra reacted so badly to being talked through the finer points relating to their innovative foreplay, dexterity, flexibility and recovery time.  And she did not appreciate having a pair of boxer shorts thrown in her face, simply because she suggested that blue gingham check ought to be reserved for life celibates.

Boz Duarte, presently a blanket covered lump on the bedroom floor, had introduced Gaila to flavoured tattoos, a seven course taster menu.  This earned her excellent marks for creativity.  Where the New Jersey cadet fell short was bravado; she pretended to have greater tolerance for alcohol than was actually the case.  Verdict: too eager to impress, but very open to new ideas.  So while Boz might think she failed, Gaila had already sent her a time-delayed message asking for a second date.

The problem now was waking Ms. Duarte.  Gaila tried calling her name softly and then less softly, and running the hair dryer was not enough noise.  Then a call came through on her PADD – the ringtone played the chorus from the hit grind single ‘Meld With Me’, a distinctly Orion interpretation of how Vulcans ‘do it’ that sold several billion downloads over most of the Federation markets.  It meant her boss was trying to get in touch.

Boz groaned.  Gaila decided Commander Spock would not want to hear the probable noises a hungover cadet might make in her first conscious minutes, so she took the PADD into the kitchen before she opened the channel.

“Sir.”

***

There were hopeful gaps in the cloud overhead.  Nyota tiptoed barefoot across a damp lawn, holding Spock’s black kimono robe closed.  A snowfall of blossom had fallen on the bench overnight.  She sat facing the weeping cherry, with its fistfuls of heavy flowers and heavier perfume. 

She waited for sunshine.  It took several minutes, but was worth it.  The light made the blossom glow and bees seemed to appear from nowhere to collect their nectar.  Uhura tipped back her head, closed her eyes and remembered the man she left in the attic to sleep a little longer, half buried by cushions.

“Good morning.”

The voice that greeted her was not Spock’s.  Nyota opened her eyes and looked in the direction of the sound.  Gaila stood on the other side of the gate, holding up something that glinted in the sun.

“Morning,” Uhura shaded her eyes against the glare.  “Did you get a date?”

“Yes, thank you,” her roommate replied.  “She just needs time to, you know, what’s that idiom you say in Standard that means making yourself more alert?”

“Blow off the cobwebs.”

“That’s it,” Gaila said.  “Your date, however, is wide awake.”

Nyota frowned.  “How do you know?”

She got up and started to walk towards the gate.

“He rang me just now.”

“Why?”  Nyota walked a bit faster.

“Well,” Gaila had that whine in her voice, the one that usually preceded a confession.  “I may have taken a liberty last night --,”

“You _were_ filming me,” Nyota interrupted.  “Damn, that’s what I – and you’re doing it now?!”

Uhura tried to grab the PADD but Gaila backed away.

“Wait, wait, wait,” the Orion said.  “I did film you, yes, and I sent the footage to Commander Spock as you were leaving our apartment.”

Nyota closed her eyes and shook her head.

“Now for _some_ reason,” Gaila went on, “the Commander did not get the chance to watch that video until this morning.  But now he has and he rang to tell me he found it enjoyable.  Very enjoyable.”

Gaila left a pause before she added, “Very, _very_ enjoyable.”

Nyota knew that in spite how much she wanted to be angry with her roommate, she had imagined Spock, still undressed and reacting to what he saw on his own PADD.  Her anger lost its fire; she knew her face was smiling.

“And due to this unusual level of enjoyment,” Gaila continued, ”he did not feel it was appropriate to leave his quarters.  So he also asked me to ask you if it would be possible to persuade you to go back inside.”

Nyota opened her eyes to see Gaila was grinning as well.

“You can tell him now,” the Orion prompted, “this footage is streaming live.”  And she came near the gate again, to get a close up.

Nyota laughed and sighed at the same time.   “You two --,”

“I don’t know which of you is worse,” Gaila mimicked her roommate’s catchphrase.  “We are just two computer programming geniuses applying our intelligence to a different kind of problem, that’s all.”

“Of course you are.”

“And speaking of problems, may I give you both some advice?  If you are planning to subject yourselves to this same, ridiculous contact ban in the run up to final exams, I suggest you produce more of these moving images, store them somewhere safe and refer to them frequently during the separation.  That way, you won’t feel the crazy need to wear your Starfleet uniforms when you get back together.”

Nyota gave the camera a knowing look.  “Thank you, Cadet Jadillu.  We will discuss the merits and practical application of your suggestion shortly.”

“I bet you will,” Gaila replied.  “Now, may I present the Commander with evidence that you are returning indoors?”

Nyota turned and started to walk away.  Halfway across the lawn, she heard Gaila hiss with exasperation.

“Cutie Bootie, after all this time I should not have to remind you that you have a nickname to live up to.  You have been blessed with one of the most beautiful backsides in the galaxy.  Could you try, just once, to move as though you knew it?”

Uhura stopped dead.

“Remember,” the Orion reminded her, “it’s not just me watching.  Give us your best imitation of a Denobulan female intent on thanking her Subspace teacher for doing his job so well.”

“Gaila, there are security cameras filming out here.”

“Correction,” Gaila replied, “there _were._ Did I mention I was a genius?”

Nyota knew it was true.  She could be sure she was being watched by one gaze, and imagining those dark eyes made her sizzle between her thighs.  Wiggling was automatic.  She pulled the kimono tight round her ass and let it roll and swing behind its silk covering.

Gaila was thanking all the deities of Orion for turning her film into a masterpiece.  Nyota definitely felt inspired, as she stepped inside the study door.  She threw off the kimono and left it behind on the grass. 

THE END

 


End file.
